


Irresistible

by EstherRuth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Boy Jon, Cheating, Dark!Jon, F/M, Forbidden Love, Half-Sibling Incest, Holidays, I know I hate cheating too, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possessive Jon Snow, Secret Relationship, Smut, but more like..., very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherRuth/pseuds/EstherRuth
Summary: “Oh no, nice to meet you, Dickon, Sansa never brings her boyfriends home,” Jon says, eyes cutting back to hers for a moment. She shifts awkwardly on her feet. No one else seems to notice the derision in which Jon says her fiancé’s name, or the way his smile melts into a devilish smirk. No, Sansa thinks, no one else notices because these things are only meant for Sansa, she knows.---Sansa avoids her family's get-togethers for years to avoid Jon. But when she returns with a fiance, she finds herself struggling not to fall under Jon's spell once more.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark/Dickon Tarly (very minor)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 155





	Irresistible

**Author's Note:**

> Okay as indicated by the tags there is cheating in this fic. I hate cheating IRL and usually in fiction too, but the story idea wouldn't leave. Jon here is very arrogant, because sometimes I just want him to lose those insecurities, ya know? Anyway, I wasn't sure this was good enough to post but I'm not feeling great and wanted a pick me up. Apparently, I am also back on my modern incest bullshit. Getting back to canon-era at some point, but I hope you enjoy <3

Dickon is a good man, Sansa thinks. He is good to her, faithful, asks her about her day at the end of the night. He is kind. He loves her (she thinks). So, when he asks her to marry him, she says yes. Because Dickon is good and stable, and she loves him (she thinks). Because he is the type of man you can settle down with. The type of man your mother would adore.

She says yes, and it is then and only then, with Dickon at her side and his ring on her finger, that she thinks it is safe to go home. To see _him._ Because she has Dickon now and because that will be her focus.

When they arrive for Thanksgiving at the Stark home, her mother clutches her too tightly and says it’s been too long, and she swallows back the guilt. Her entire family loves Dickon. Just as she knew they would. Her father slaps him on the shoulder. Robb does his protective big brother act but is quickly joking with him. Even Arya likes him, and he plays with Bran and Rickon when they excitedly circle him. But Jon.

But _Jon._ Her half-brother who moved in with them when he, Robb, and Sansa were teenagers. After his stint in juvie and his mother telling their father he had to step up now because she couldn’t take it with him anymore. Jon saunters into the room and his dark eyes immediately meet hers. He’s walking over to her to pull her into a hug, kissing her cheek and whispering in her ear where no one else can hear. “Welcome home, my Sansa,” in his deep husky voice with his hand at her lower back and she has to hide the shudder that runs through her at his words. He squeezes her hip possessively.

And, oh. Oh, _no._

He pulls back and smirks at her before turning his appraising eyes on her fiancé. “And you must be Dickon,” he says, all false smiles and friendliness, reaching out to shake Dickon’s hand.

“That’s me, nice to meet you,” Dickon shakes Jon’s hand and smiles.

“Oh no, nice to meet you, _Dickon,_ Sansa never brings her boyfriends home,” Jon says, eyes cutting back to hers for a moment. She shifts awkwardly on her feet. No one else seems to notice the derision in which Jon says her fiancé’s name, or the way his smile melts into a devilish smirk. No, Sansa thinks, no one else notices because these things are only meant for Sansa, she knows.

A moment later Jon takes her left hand and brings the engagement ring up for inspection with a whistle. “That is quite the rock there, _Dickon,_ ” Jon says as he raises his brows, looking at her fiancé instead of her.

Dickon laughs brightly. “Well, your sister deserves the best,” he says, turning and smiling warmly at her. She tries to return her fiancé’s smile. But then Jon is looking at her too and he’s still got that damn self-satisfied smirk on his face and his eyes are dancing with mischief and she cannot breathe. This was not a good idea. She should never have come home.

Jon looks her up and down with those heated eyes that always set her skin afire. Devilish grin curls wider when he meets her eyes again. “That she does, _Dickon,_ ” he says, his eyes never leaving hers, “that she does.”

And oh, _fuck._ She is in so much trouble.

\---

The dinner is lovely, as her mother’s always are. Dickon sits next to her on one side and Arya on the other. Jon, somehow, ends up directly across from her, and she is sure it is by his design. He looks at her with a challenging, amused gaze whenever she meets his eyes. Sometimes his foot brushes hers and she knows he is doing it on purpose from the look on his face. She would kick him if she wasn’t worried someone else would notice. Dickon is attentive and brings her a glass of wine without her asking and she thanks him warmly, placing her hand on his firm shoulder—grounding herself. She is with Dickon. Dickon is _here_ and he is her fiancé.

But sometime later Arya must have stepped away because Jon sinks into her seat, deliberately brushing against Sansa as he sits and brings a plate with two lemon cakes in front of her. “For you, Sansi,” he says, grinning.

And damn him, that fucking _asshole_. Because he liked to call her Sansi when she was close to orgasm. And her mind is flooded with images of Jon buried inside of her, playing her body like an instrument, her body quaking as he took her, his rough voice always pushing her over the edge—

_Oh fuck yes, that’s it, Sansi. Such a good girl for me. Come on, I want you to cum for me Sansi, cum for me baby…_

And she is a bit short of breath suddenly; the room is too hot. And from the way Jon arches his brow when he looks at her, she’s sure he can tell exactly what she’s thinking. The little shit.

“I didn’t know you liked lemon cakes, Sansa,” Dickon says, and she forces herself to look at him.

But Jon tsks at her and shakes his head. “He’s to be your husband, Sansi, and you don’t even tell him your favorite dessert?” That smile he gives her is always enough to unstitch her. And he’s evoking other memories.

_“Want some? They’re my favorite.” There is something decadent, she thinks, about indulging in desserts when she’s wrapped up in bedsheets with her brother._

_“I’d rather eat you,” he said, grinning wickedly and lowering his head between her thighs and her head rolled back._

_“Jon,” she gasped…_

Damn him to hell, she thinks. “I—” she stammers, and she sees Jon is holding back his laughter and she narrows her eyes at him. “I’ve been watching my figure,” she says defensively.

“Sansa,” Dickon lightly reprimands her, and she looks to him. So sweet, Dickon is. Too sweet for her. “You’re beautiful the way you are.”

“Yeah Sansa, listen to _Dickon,_ ” Jon says. She shoots a glare at him, hoping it’s minute enough that no one else notices. They’d always had their own kind of secret language. He responds only with that smirk on his sinful mouth…

_Get it together, Sansa!_

She really shouldn’t have come home for Thanksgiving.

\---

Sansa is out on the patio when Jon finds her. Alone. She knew he would eventually. There was no point in trying to fight it. He slides the door behind him, and she gives him only the most cursory glance over her shoulder, knowing it would be a bad idea to look at him too directly. It is dark as nighttime descends, and something about it should be calming. The familiar way she can see her breath puff out in front of her from the cold, and she hugs her coat tighter around her body. But none of this can be calming when Jon is merely a few feet away from her.

She is leaning on the rail with her hands, facing the backyard, and he walks over to join her, leaning his back against the rail and facing the house. He digs in his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He takes one and puts it between his lips, and God, it just isn’t fair. How sexy he always looks when he gets out a cigarette. He must be doing this on purpose too, she thinks. He holds the pack out to her wordlessly so she may take one for herself.

“I quit,” she tells him. She hasn’t, exactly, but she’s trying _._ She’s getting closer. She hasn’t had one in a week now.

Jon only chuckles, and she thinks he probably doesn’t believe her. She can’t help but watch the flame illuminate his face in the dark as he lights his cigarette. He’s giving her a sidelong glance while he takes a long drag and puffs it out slowly into the night air. Then he turns to face her. “So,” he says contemplatively, “ _Dickon._ ”

“He’s a good man,” Sansa says. She already feels the need to defend him. Already knows the way Jon looks at him.

Jon’s eyes darken and he looks to her mouth before meeting her gaze. “I’m sure he is,” he says in a deep voice that almost sounds like a purr to her ears. “You set a date yet?” he asks, arching a brow at her and bringing the cigarette back to his lips. She can hear the mockery underlying his tone and bristles. He smirks, and she tries to school her expression into something more neutral—she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. He’s always loved riling her up.

“Not yet,” she says curtly. She forces herself to look away from him.

“Your mother is certainly excited—finally gets to be the mother of the bride with her eldest daughter, you should really let her in on the wedding planning—”  
“Stop,” Sansa cuts him off abruptly. She turns fully to face him, and the smirk from his face disappears and his hot gaze bores into hers. She hears them both breathing more heavily at the proximity. She knows she should, but she cannot find it in herself to back away. He’s looking at her mouth, her breasts, and brings his eyes back to hers. “Just stop,” she repeats, but it isn’t as strong as Sansa hoped.

Jon puts out his cigarette. He takes a step closer to her, and despite the cold she is unbearably hot. Sansa has half the mind to take off her coat. She is frozen to the spot. As if he’s pinned her with his dark eyes. “What would you like me to say, Sansa?” he asks.

“I—I don’t want you to say anything, Jon,” she says.

“That can be arranged,” he says deeply, putting his hand on her waist, and his touch burns into her. He pulls her against him, and she stumbles into him, her hands going instinctively to his chest as if to push him away, but his other arm comes around her and he only holds her tighter to him. And Sansa cannot muster the will to disentangle herself. She knows she should, they’re right there on the patio, anyone could see, _Dickon_ could see—how her brother holds her far too close, with his hands around her waist and then moving to the small of her back. But he’s got her under his spell again. This is why she hadn’t come home in three years. Why she waited until she was engaged to someone she thought she loved, or could love, eventually.

Jon put his forehead to hers. His mouth hovered just over her lips. If she leaned just the slightest bit forward, she’d be kissing him. He’s panting against her, but he doesn’t make that final move. Perhaps it is too bold, even for him.

“My Sansa,” he growls instead. “You’re still mine, even when you play pretend.”

She stiffens in his arms. “I’m engaged!” she says indignantly.

He tips his head to the side so his mouth is at her ear. “But he doesn’t make you as wet as I do, does he baby?” he whispers teasingly.

She shudders and feels his laughter against her chest. She can’t answer him. She can’t. Because it’s the truth and they both know it.

“Jon,” she whined. Sansa needed him to stop. Or keep going. She couldn’t decide. She was so wet for him and felt like she was going to go out of her mind.

“Hmm, he never makes you cry his name like that either, does he sweetheart?” he croons, hot breath against her skin.

“Stop, Jon,” she says, but it sounds pathetically weak even to her own ears. She’s practically melting against him.

“You don’t want me to stop, Sansa,” he says with authority, and sucks her earlobe into his mouth. She cannot help but let out a small, breathy moan when his tongue touches her skin. “Mmm, you always sound so sweet,” Jon says, and then she can feel his hard cock at her hip, as he grinds against her.

Losing herself, her arms go around his shoulders and suddenly her hands are in his dark curly hair. She has always loved his hair. Jon’s hands grip her tighter, and he moves to cup her breast as he begins to litter her neck with kisses. She holds onto him, tilts her head so he can reach more of her skin, unable to stop as she feels his lips and tongue along her throat as he rocks against her. She is letting him; she is letting him—

“Rickon!” She suddenly hears Arya scream. “Give me back the nunchucks or I swear I will murder you! I don’t care if you’re the baby of the family!”

Sansa and Jon freeze for a moment, and she finally disentangles herself from his arms. They’re both panting. Jon’s eyes are blown wide as he looks at her. For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Jon is the one to break the silence. “Come see me tomorrow. You know the address,” he says. So, he hasn’t moved. Not that she thought he would. And she feels shame and desire coursing through her as she remembers his apartment. All the ways he had taken her there.

“I can’t,” Sansa says, and she’s trembling.

He takes a step forward, and this time, at least she manages to take a step back.

“You can, Sansi,” Jon says. “And you _will_.” She feels a shiver run through her at his order.

And Sansa realizes they both know.

She _will._

\---

_What am I doing?_ Sansa thinks to herself as she pulls up to Jon’s apartment. Sansa had told Dickon she wanted to do some Black Friday shopping, knowing he wouldn’t want to come along. She thinks she’ll have to stop somewhere on the way back to her parents’ and buy a few items. She hates lying to him.

And the only thing she’s ever lied to Dickon about was Jon.

_“He’s my brother—well, half. He came to live with us when we were teenagers, so I wasn’t as close to him as my other brothers,” she’d said._

And it was almost the truth. Her relationship with Jon was far different than the ones she had with her other brothers. But not because they weren’t close. They were too close and in all the wrong ways.

She knocks on Jon’s door and it opens immediately, as if he were waiting for her. He probably was, Sansa realizes. His eyes immediately roam her form in an uninhibited way he wouldn’t do in front of their family. Her pulse jumped in anticipation.

“Get in here,” Jon ordered in a low voice. She did as told.

_Just because I’m here doesn’t mean we have to do anything,_ Sansa tells herself. Jon is in a white t-shirt, and she can see the shape of his biceps, the width of his shoulders beneath the fabric. He wore black jeans. His hair was tied back. Sansa liked his hair tied back. Then again, she liked it down too. He locked his front door and took a step toward her. She took a step back.

He smirked at the motion. “Afraid I’m going to attack you, Sansi?”

She straightened her spine. “Maybe,” Sansa said.

His laugh was deep and rough. Even his laugh could make her wet. What was wrong with her? He stared at her, grinning with narrowed eyes. “Something tells me you wouldn’t mind so much,” Jon said and moved toward her.

Sansa stumbled back until she hit his dining room table. He met her and caged her in with his arms on either side of her and his hands at the edges of the table. “What do you think I’m going to do to you?” he rumbled.

“I—I don’t know,” Sansa said, trying to stop the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

He grinned almost like the Chesire Cat, she thought. “Oh, Sansa,” he said, bringing up a hand to twirl his finger around a lock of her hair, brush it behind her ear. “I think you do.”

She closed her eyes—trying to beat back the desire she felt for him. But the heat of his body so close to hers—oh, she had missed it so much. His hard body, strong muscles against her, rough callused hands and nimble fingers. His full lips and wicked tongue. Sansa let out an involuntary whimper. Jon groaned in response. “I love the noises you make for me, Sansa,” he said and grabbed her hips, pulling her against him.

And then he was kissing her, shoving his tongue into her mouth and she moaned when her tongue stroked against his. He grabbed the back of her thighs and hoisted her onto the table like she weighed nothing, spread her legs apart, pushed himself between them. He groaned as Sansa began lifting his shirt up, loving the feel of his strong back beneath her hands again, and he pulled away just long enough to rip it off. Then he was grabbing her head and crushing his mouth to hers again.

His hand ran up her skirt, past her thigh and reached her panties and shoved them to the side. He moaned when his fingers met her wet cunt. “So fucking wet for me, Sansa,” he muttered against her mouth. He forced her back onto the table and began to climb over her.

When his mouth pulled from hers and he reached for her top, she froze.

Dickon.

She couldn’t do this to him. “No, Jon. Stop,” Sansa said, putting a hand to his chest to push him off her. He pulled back reluctantly, but he was still perched over her. “We can’t do this,” she said.

“I think we’ve proven we can,” Jon snapped.

“I’m engaged!” It sounded more useless than the night before.

He scowled and moved toward her. “I’m well aware of that Sansa.” He grabbed her hand like the day before, but with greater force. “Wouldn’t come back until you had a fat, pretty diamond ring on your finger, would you?” Jon growled at her accusingly.

Sansa tried to snatch her hand away, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Left home for three fucking years and couldn’t come back until you had a fiancé all so you wouldn’t fuck your brother,” Jon narrowed his eyes. “But here you are, Sansa. You don’t love him. You’re just staying with him because you thought it’d keep you from ending up here again. But here you are any fucking way.”

“Screw you, Jon!” Sansa snapped and pushed herself off the table. But Jon was on her in a minute, dragging her back against his front. She could feel his hard cock against her ass. “Let me go,” she hissed.

“No.” Jon said, running his hand along her side, cupping her mound and rubbing beneath her skirt in long, slow tortuous motions. “How long do you think you can keep running, Sansa?” he challenged. “How long will you play pretend with that nice fiancé of yours? How long until you realize _this_ is not going away? Because you’re mine, Sansa,” he growled at her ear. “And I’m yours.”

“Oh, like there haven’t been other women,” she snapped. Sansa immediately chastised herself for the jealousy she could hear in her voice. God, just the thought of him with another woman—but she had no right. Not after she’d left to put an end to things and come back engaged.

He laughed smugly and she tried to get away from him, but he held onto her. “And every single woman I fucked I pretended was you, sweetheart,” he crooned in her ear, “I was just waiting for you to come back to me.” She felt goosebumps on her skin. _What is wrong with me?! That shouldn’t make me happy or turn me on!_ “Just like you think of me when you’re with Dickon, tell me I’m wrong,” Jon said.

She closed her eyes in frustration. “You’re wrong,” Sansa said weakly. Oh, how she wanted so badly for that to be the truth.

“Liar,” he accused.

She tried so hard not to think of Jon when she was with Dickon. But he couldn’t make her cum. She couldn’t get there—not without thinking of Jon. And it was never the same. Never as good as it was with Jon. Sansa hated herself for it. 

She broke from his arms, turned around and shoved him away. But he only pulled her to him again. “You love _me,_ not him,” Jon said darkly. He gripped the nape of her neck and kissed her roughly. And she felt like she was in a free-fall.

It was true, she realized. On some level she’d known it. She’d only come home because she thought Dickon could keep her from doing this with Jon. And it hadn’t worked. Dickon was a good man. And she was using him. He didn’t deserve this. Any of it. She needed to fix this. But she couldn’t think about it now. Because Jon’s lips were on hers and his hands roamed her body with all the familiarity of years-long lovers.

And so, she kissed him back. He moaned in pleasure and triumph as she finally submitted to him—his kisses, his touches, winding her up like no one else could. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, his tongue in her mouth, he pulled her even closer, crushing her body against his and Sansa hadn’t felt so good, so free and _alive_ since she’d left him three years ago.

“Admit it,” he said against her lips.

“Admit what?” she asked. It was immature really, but Sansa supposed she wanted to tease him back a little.

Jon growled in frustration at that and began walking her back to the table. He laid her down, spread her legs and ran his fingers along her lace panties. “Admit you love me and not him,” Jon commanded darkly.

“I don’t love him. I love you, only you,” she gasped helplessly. She couldn’t fight it anymore. At her words he pulled off her panties and set his mouth to her cunt.

“Sansa,” Jon moaned into her. “You taste so sweet.” His tongue ran along her clit, then moved downward to enter her cunt as he fucked her with his tongue. She cried out, grasping his curls in her hands. One of his hands moved to hold her hips in place as she bucked against him. His tongue moved back to her clit and he quickly inserted two fingers at her entrance. The feeling was so intense as Jon tongued her roughly, as if he’d missed this as much as she had, that she began to pull away slightly. Jon only gripped her hip more tightly, pulling her closer to the table’s edge so she couldn’t get away from him, groaning appreciatively against her. He wouldn’t slow even as she pleaded. He curled his fingers inside of her and her eyes rolled back.

“Jon!” Sansa cried as she came harder than she had in years, her vision going blurry as her back arched up from the table. When she finished Jon rose from his knees as she remained in a daze and before she knew it, he’d removed the rest of their clothes.

He entered her desperately. “God, Sansa,” he moaned, grabbing her hair and crashing his mouth to hers. Jon panted as he drove his cock deeper into her. “ _God,_ I’ve missed you.” Her heart clenched at the vulnerability in his words.

“I love you, Sansa,” he said as he picked up his pace. “Love you, love you, love you,” he chanted in time to his thrusts.

“I love you Jon,” she said as he raised up on his knees, pushed her legs back and began to pound into her, his head throwing back in pleasure.

“Tell me, Sansa,” Jon groaned, sweat making his curls come loose and wild, “tell me you’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay,” she said. And Sansa knew she would. He leaned back down to kiss her, his hands on either side of her head. The entire table shook with the force of his thrusts.

“Tell me you’ll call it off, you’ll leave him,” he moaned.

“I will Jon, I’ll end it.”

“You’ll move in with me.”

“I will,” Sansa agreed.

“That’s my girl. Mine,” he groaned and reached for her clit. “Tell me Sansi,” he grunted.

“I’m yours Jon,” she moaned.

“I love you,” he said breathlessly. “Never leave me again.”

“I won’t. Never.”

Jon groaned and lifted himself up again, he gripped her waist to keep her in place as he pounded hard and fast into her. His fingers on her clit rubbing frantically as his hips jerked.

“Jon!” she cried.

“That’s it Sansi, cum for me,” Jon ordered.

And when she did, he reached his peak at the same time, burying his cock and cumming inside her with furious thrusts.

“My girl,” he murmured as he collapsed atop her. “Mine,” he said, placing a soft kiss to her neck.

“Yours,” she agreed. He hummed and brought a hand to her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

“I meant it Sansa,” Jon said, those dark eyes unwavering in their intensity, with a hint of softness beneath the surface. “I meant everything I said. You’re mine, Sansa, not his. And I’m not giving you up.”

She looked at him and pressed a kiss to his palm. “I meant everything too. I’ll break things off with Dickon, I’ll move back—”

“With me,” he urged.

“With you,” Sansa said with a smile that brought a small one to his own face, no longer smirking or sarcastic—just sweet and warm as he looked at her. Her freelance writing could let her move easily. She’d made a mess of things. She would have to give Dickon back his ring, and hoped he found someone to love him. That someone couldn’t be her, much as she’d tried. Sansa didn’t want to hurt him, but it was inevitable when her heart belonged to another—and at least now she’d be ending things before they’d made the mistake of marrying.

She sighed. “What?” Jon asked gently, as he peppered kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

“You were right,” Sansa said.

At that, Jon’s head snapped up immediately. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked, arching a brow and looking so smug she could hit him (or kiss him, probably kiss him). He leaned forward, cupping one of his ears playfully. “I didn’t quite catch it. Could you say it again?”

“Ass,” she said.

“No, that wasn’t it,” Jon shook his head, smiling infectiously.

“Ugh, fine. I said you were right. You were right, okay? I won’t fight this anymore. You were right and I was wrong.” Sansa admitted, and she felt lighter as she lay in his arms.

He smiled at her in victory. “Well, I think it’s safe to say that’s a first,” Jon said, and leaned in to kiss her again.

**Author's Note:**

> So I wouldn't have an ongoing affair with Jon/Sansa since I do hate cheating. Head-canon that Dickon never loved Sansa either, he just thinks he does but he'll see he was wrong when he meets Ms. Right. Happy endings for everyone <3\. Thanks for reading!


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